Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“Twenty-one almost that we’ve been married.” Eyes still closed, I shake my head. “But that’s not it. Not why.”
Sitting here right now, I know without a shadow of doubt, I will never forget how Laurence tasted as he kissed me against that wall.
Laurence doesn’t speak. Doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. He simply waits. As cliché as it sounds, it feels like he’s been here, waiting, my whole life.
“When Becca first kissed me, I think I let her out of, I don’t know, gratitude. Or in case she’d be upset if I didn’t. She’d done so much for me, and I was beyond lucky to have her in my life. It didn’t feel horrible. It even felt sort of nice. I followed her lead, started kissing her back.” In my head, I’m back in Becca’s teenage bedroom, staring at the poster of Westlife above her desk while wondering where to rest my clumsy hands while our mouths were touching.
“The kicker is I was getting ready to tell her about the feelings I had for other boys. I wanted her advice, you know? Especially when it came to my dad. Still, I assumed it’d all fizzle out. She’d find someone better at college and we’d go back to being best friends. Then I could tell her. Only…it didn’t fizzle out. She didn’t find anyone else, and I couldn’t break up with her because the longer we were together the more I had to thank her for. She got me away from my father. She got me a job. She gave me a real family. And fuck, I love her…I really do love her, and she doesn’t deserve this. A whole marriage, an entire life based on being fucking grateful.”
My eyes shoot open. I sit forward with my head in my hands.
“No, she doesn’t,” Laurence agrees. “But neither do you.”
I risk eye contact for the first time in a while. Laurence tilts his head to the side, smiles just barely. His arm reaches out, hand hovering close to my leg. “Can I hold your hand,” he asks, and just the fact he’s asked for permission makes my throat swell.
I give him my hand, sighing when his fingers close around mine. He feels so safe, like I should just stay here, like this, forever. Nothing can penetrate the bubble that inflates around us when his flesh makes contact with mine.
“I know what you want from me,” I say, ignoring the raised eyebrow I receive in response. “But I’m not ready. I’ve known you a matter of weeks. I’m not ready to throw away two decades of marriage and the life I have for what could be some…some fantasy brought about by getting to play pretend in the showbiz world for a little while.”
“You think that’s what this is? Because it sounds more like you’ve been playing pretend for the past twenty years.”
“I’m not ready,” I repeat, a little curter than last time. “And I don’t expect you to wait for me, or keep playing whatever game this is we’ve been playing. You could have any man you wanted, I get it. I just—”
“For fuck’s sake, William,” he interrupts, rising to his feet. “What game? Do you think this is all about a quick shag for me?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what it’s about for you. How can I? I barely know you.” I regret it as soon as I say it.
The ridge in his brow deepens. His bottom lip falls.
He’s hurt.
Yet…I keep going. Keep pushing. It’s almost like I’m trying to make him end this, whatever it is we have, because…I’m not sure I’ll be able to for much longer. “The movie star and the electrician. Hardly a bestseller, is it? You can’t blame me for wondering if I’m a novelty. We live in different worlds.”
“A novelty? In what way have I treated you like a fucking novelty?” The force of his yell causes a vein to swell along his neck. His cheeks pink and his jaw sets into a tight square. “Don’t you get it? It’s not that I forget you’re not part of my world. It’s that you make me forget I’m part of it!”
He blows what I hope is the last of his anger up to the ceiling, before he looks at me again, shoulders sagging. “Whenever I meet someone, and I’m not only talking about people I might have sex with before you start, there’s a wall between us. A wall I put there, I’m sure. But I’m conscious of them seeing behind it, wary of their intentions. I can’t remember the last time I met someone who didn’t wear a question mark like a halo…until you.”
Sighing, he returns to the couch, though he sits a little further away than before. “At first, I admit, my motives for talking to you might’ve been less than honourable, but—”